Band of Brothers
by The Noble French Fry
Summary: Booth and Brennan's brief adventures in Alabama, including an attack by country fangirls! [Oneshot. BB friendship and preship, sorta.][Part 1 of the Long Trip Alone series]


**Title:** Band of Brothers  
**Summary:** Booth and Brennan's brief adventures in Alabama, including an attack by country fangirls.  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairings/Characters:** Booth/Brennan friendship & pre-ship  
**Series: _Long Trip Alone, part 1/11_**  
**Length:** 3000 words  
**Genres:** humor  
**A/N:** This is the beginning of a series I'm writing for the LiveJournal community ficalbum. Each fic is based on a prompt from each song on Dierks Bentley's CD "Long Trip Alone", this one using the song "Band of Brothers" obviously. Therefore the series is going to have a total of 11 fics spanning Booth and Brennan's relationship, but probably going to be set in an AU following season 1, since I'd rather have Goodman than Cam anyday

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**_Dedicated to: My buddy Fate, who not only beta-ed this for me, but also inspired a good half of it. Thanks, Fate!  
_**

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**Band of Brothers**

"It's always the same thing," Brennan said, staring out her window at field after field of crops passing by, all bathed in golden light from the setting sun. "A field of tobacco, a field of corn, a field of cotton. It never changes."

"It's southern Alabama, Bones," Booth said, glancing sideways at her. "Rural southern Alabama. People out here like their continuity. They like stuff to stay the same. You can't judge them for that."

"I wasn't," she defended. "I actually find it soothing."

Surprised, he glanced sideways at her again. "Really, Bones?"

She nodded. "Yes, most definitely. It's a sharp contrast to the bustle of the city, like we have in D.C." She shrugged. "Out in the countryside and small towns, everything is more laid-back and less stressed. The only thing that disturbs those fields is the weather."

"Less stressed?" Booth said with a scoff. "This coming from a workaholic."

"I love my work," Brennan defended. "It's calming, not stressful."

Booth shrugged. "Yeah, sure, Bones," he said. He paused, then went on, "You know, we've wrapped up this case and we don't have to head back to D.C. until tomorrow. What do you say we go get something to eat and really relax?"

She nodded. "Sure, Booth." Sighing to herself, she thought, _Angela would be so proud. She's always going on about me relaxing._

A few short moments later as the sun dipped below the horizon, a big neon sign that read "Billy Bob's Country Bar and Grill," with a beer mug on it appeared up ahead. Booth turned on his blinker to pull off in the parking lot.

"This is probably as good a place as we'll find out here," he said.

He pulled the rental car into the parking lot, and pulled into the first available slot. He shut the car off, and Brennan opened her door. As she stepped out, she noticed that the car was parked in between a pair of trucks that had tires and lift, not to mention the actual trucks, that were easily higher than Booth's entire rental car.

She chuckled to herself at that as she walked around the front of the car, meeting Booth there. He put his hand on her lower back like he always did, and they set off across the parking lot towards the front door to the bar and grill. And, Brennan noted as they walked across it, the entire parking lot was filled with trucks just like the two beside their car.

Booth and Brennan walked through the door of Billy Bob's Country Bar and Grill, both of them looking around the place with interest. It was small, but still managed to fit a dining area, a set of billiards tables, a bar, of course, and a small stage in one corner where a live band was currently playing country music. And, even though it was small and it was barely past sundown, the place was already halfway full.

When Booth stopped looking around the place, he noticed a sign standing in front of them. Laughing, he read it out loud.

"'Seat yourself because we don't have time to hire a hostess,'" he said, and Brennan turned to look at him, then down at the sign he was reading. "'Billy Bob's specialty is our barbecue sandwich. It's so good, it'll make your tongue slap your brains right out of your head!'"

Still laughing, he looked at Brennan. She just blinked at him. "What?" he asked.

"I don't get it," she said. She pointed to the sign. "It makes absolutely no sense. It's physically impossible for one's tongue to consciously reach one's brain, much less remove it from the cranial cavity."

He just stood there, blinking at her. "Bones…"

"What?" she asked. "It's true, Booth. That's physically impossible."

"Bones, it's just a joke," he said. "You really gotta stop over analyzing stuff like that." He looked past Brennan at something, and she glanced over her shoulder to see a table full of people looking at her with raised eyebrows. "Especially when you're in a bar," he added. He put his hand back on her lower back, and guided her towards the bar. "Let's go and eat already."

"Sure, Booth, but I still don't understand why anyone would want to make a joke like that," she said. "To make even a joke that so obviously defies the laws of anatomic possibilities—"

He sighed, interrupting her. "Bones, just _forget_ about it." He glanced around again, and his voice dropped really low. "I really doubt people around here care whether it's impossible or not." He sat down on a barstool, and Brennan sat beside him.

Standing a few feet away behind the bar, the bartender looked over at them. "You folks gonna eat or are y'all just here for a drink?" he asked.

"We're going to eat," Booth replied before Brennan could. "But I don't think we need menus. We're going to have two of your barbecue sandwiches." Brennan started to say something, but Booth just glanced at her with a look that said, "Don't say it" and she shut her mouth.

The man smiled. "Ah, good choice." He raised an eyebrow. "Drinks while you're waiting?"

The pair ordered their drinks, and the bartender turned to put their order in and to get said drinks. While waiting, both Booth and Brennan's attention was turned to the band playing on the small stage to their left.

Brennan soon began bobbing her head in time with the beat. "I like it," she said.

Booth chuckled. "I never would've nailed you for a country fan, Bones," he observed. "Never in a million years."

Brennan's response was cut off by the song ending and loud applause erupting from people all across the place, from the pool tables to the dining area to people at the bar. Brennan and Booth politely joined in the clapping.

"Hey, John, when're you gonna head off to Nashville and get serious about your music, buddy?" someone at one of the tables yelled at the man standing at the center mike on the stage.

"I ain't," the man replied into the microphone. "I only play for tips and alcohol."

"That's the way to work!" someone else yelled out, bringing laughter and affirmations from the crowd of people.

The bartender came back with Booth and Brennan's drinks, setting them down in front of the pair with a clink. "Yeah, but what they're not considering is that John works a real job so that he _can_ play for tips and alcohol," he said with a chuckle that faded into a smile. "Y'all's sandwiches will be up in a minute."

"Thanks," Booth said, picking up his beer and taking a swig.

"Thank you," Brennan agreed, doing the same with her beer. She set it down as the bartender wandered off to care for someone else's order, and turned to face Booth. "Why shouldn't I like country music?" she asked.

He thought about it for a minute. "Well, you know, you don't really come off as a real country person," he said, shrugging as he sat his beer down on the bar. "And these days, it seems like country is one of those things that you either love or you hate."

Brennan shrugged. "I happen to like it. It's a fascinating combination of traditional folk music, Christian spirituals, and the blues. It's also developed a wide variety of subgenres, like bluegrass, southern rock, western swing—"

"Okay, that's enough, Bones," he interrupted her quickly. "I don't need a definition of country. I know what it is."

"I wasn't trying to define it," she replied. "I was stating the reasons I enjoyed it."

Sighing, Booth sat back a little further on his stool. "Of course you were. But you couldn't just say, 'Oh, I like it. It's cool.' You couldn't be normal. Because it would just be too much of a stretch for you to be normal."

Brennan shrugged, smiling. "That's why you like me. Because I'm not normal."

"_Right_," Booth said sarcastically, chuckling. "What makes you so sure?"

Brennan's response was cut off by the bartender arriving with two plates, atop which sat barbecue sandwiches with a side of coleslaw and baked beans. He carefully sat one down in front of Brennan, then sat the other in front of Booth.

"There ya go," he said. "Two barbecue sandwiches." He turned away, but smiled at them over his shoulder as he said, "Enjoy, because it's so good it'll make your tongue slap ya brains right outta your heads."

Brennan opened her mouth to make a response to that, but Booth stopped her with a hand on the crook of her arm. She closed her mouth and looked at his hand, then up at him. "Let it go, Bones," he said, patting her arm. "Just let it go."

She sighed. "Fine. Let's eat then." She pushed up her sleeves a little and took hold of the sandwich in front of her. She took a bite, and found that she enjoyed it more than she thought she would.

Brennan and Booth went on with their meal in relative silence, with their barbecue and beer, listening to the live music and watching the restaurant/bar slowly fill up with more and more people. By the time they'd finished eating, it was close to being packed. The bartender was getting a bit busier, but he came quickly to clear away their plates and smoothly laid down a piece of paper in front of Booth.

"Check for the mister and misses," he said.

"Oh, no, we're not married," Brennan corrected. She started to add that she believed marriage was an outdated custom and didn't everplan to get married, but Booth cut her off.

"We're not together either," he hurriedly clarified for the bartender, gesturing to himself and Brennan when he said 'together.' "We just work together."

The bartender's eyes were a little wide, but he smoothly said, "Oh, okay. Sorry, I just assumed, you know…" He nodded towards the check in front of Booth. "Well, there's your check anyway, folks. Feel free to keep adding to it with more drinks." He winked and walked off with the plates.

Brennan pulled out her wallet and, glancing over at the check in front of Booth, began to pull out the couple of dollars to pay for her meal. Booth glanced over to see her thumbing through dollar bills and counting silently.

"No, don't worry about it, Bones," he said, laying down the money to pay for the entire check. "I've got it."

She smiled lightly at him. "Thanks, Booth."

"Booth? Is that like a nickname or something?"

Both Booth and Brennan turned to see a pair of girls standing on the opposite side of Booth, smiling flirtatiously at him. One of the girls was tall and had long blond hair topped by a black cowboy hat. The other was shorter, and her long hair was, by contrast to her fair-haired counterpart, curly, brown, and hatless. Both of the girls were slim and dressed in matching Confederate flag tank tops and short cut-off skirts.

"No, it's not a nickname," Booth told them, smiling lightly. He thrust out a hand and shook both of the girls' hands in turn. "Seeley Booth at your service."

"Seeley?" the brunette said, twirling one of her chestnut tresses around a finger. "That's a cool name. Mine's just plain old Anna."

"And my name's Catie," the blond added, smiling broadly at Booth. "We did hear you say you're not married, right?" Her smile became a little sultrier. "And that you don't have a girlfriend?"

Booth chuckled and turned to face the girls a little better. "That's not exactly what I said," he clarified. To Brennan's slight surprise, he returned the (in Brennan's opinion) foolish girls' smiles with his trademark 'charm smile'. "But to be perfectly honest with you two," he continued, "no. I'm not married, and I don't really have a girlfriend."

"Excellent," the brunette, Anna, said, continuing to twirl her curl. She smiled again. "Y'know, it's not very often we get an available man coming through here that looks like you." She sized him up and repeated, "Not very often at all."

Leaning one elbow on the bar and then resting his chin on his hand, Booth chuckled again. "I'm flattered," he said. He sized up the pair of girls. "And it's not every day I hear something like that from a couple of cowgirls in," he glanced at their shirts, "shirts like those."

Both girls stood there and blinked at Booth for a brief moment.

Then Catie, the blond, held up a finger and squared her shoulders. "Hey, did you just insult our flags?" she said snappily. "Tell me you didn't just insult our flags."

Surprised, Booth's mouth just worked open and closed soundlessly for a minute. Then he started trying to say something, but it came out more like stammering than actual speaking. "Oh, no," he tried to say, but it came out rather jumbled and even Brennan barely understood what he said.

Anna scoffed. "He did. He totally insulted our flags. Seeley, I can believe you did that." She turned and called out to someone at one of the tables a few steps away. "Hey, did y'all just hear that? This man just insulted our flag!"

"He did!" Catie agreed.

The sound of several chairs sliding back and several pairs of boots determinedly striking the floor. An army of cowgirls stood up and determinedly made their way towards the growing conflict. Poor Booth tried again to tell the girls that he hadn't meant to offend them, and Brennan sat back, trying not to laughing, as she watched the fight unfold.

"Mister, do you know what you did?" Catie said, bobbing her head sassily so that her blond hair spilled over her shoulder. "You've insulted our flag. Do you know what we do to people who insult our flag?"

"Girls, I think we ought to show him," Anna said.

Booth's eyes went wide. "Oh, please, I didn't—" he started.

He was quickly interrupted by a harsh slap to the face that turned his head. The blow came from Anna, who then firmly crossed her arms as Booth blinked against the sting. Before he could even finish re-cooperating, Catie slapped him again, turning his head the opposite way.

A laugh threatened to escape Brennan's throat, but she stopped it before it turned into the peals of laughter she wanted to release. She was tempted to step in and help Booth, but she didn't really think she'd be much help against the army of cowgirls—even with her martial arts training. Besides, Booth was always trying to assert his alpha-male dominance. He was always reminding her who the FBI Agent was in this partnership. He should be able to hold his own against a pack of ladies.

So Brennan slid off of her stool and quickly stepped back.

"Now get him!" one of the girls yelled. And the entire pack of woman was set in motion, surging forward on Booth, who threw his arms up for defense.

And Brennan sat back, trying to hold in her laughter, as she watched the swarm of girls throw slaps and punches at her partner. It didn't take the girls very long to knock over Booth's stool, sending him sprawling on his back. In an instant they were on him again, hitting him again.

They kept it up longer than Brennan expected them too, and it took several long minutes for the fight—if it could even be called a fight, being so one-sided—to drag out and the girls to begin to peel away from the pack. And several more for the fight to completely dissolve, leaving Booth lying alone on the floor.

There were a couple of faint scratches and bruises on his face, parts of his shirt were torn, and his nose was bleeding. But when the cowgirls cleared away and Brennan moved back to the stool beside his fallen one, his face broke out into a grin as he stared past her at the ceiling.

"I love cowgirls," he said.

She rolled her eyes. "You should've known they'd attack you," she said matter-of-factly. "You insulted one of their main sources of pride. Offended them. And people residing in small towns and more rural areas tend to band together more solidly against outsiders than your average group of people would." She shrugged. "They possess one another's backs almost like a band of brothers… or, in this case, sisters."

"Have each other's backs, Bones," Booth corrected, slowly and carefully picking himself up off the floor. "They _have_ each other's backs." He righted his bar stool and sat in it. He picked up a napkin from the bar and pressed to his bleeding nose, glancing sideways at Brennan. "And I thought _you_ had _my_ back."

"Normally, Booth, I would, but I didn't think I could help," Brennan replied.

"Ah, but that's not the meaning of partnership," he said, wagging a finger at her. His words seemed accusative, but his tone really wasn't. "I'm always supposed to have your back, and you're always supposed to have mine. It's supposed to be like a 'band of brothers' thing, in your terms." He pointed a finger at her. "You were the bad brother, Bones."

She raised an eyebrow. "Booth, how can I be a brother when I'm a woman?"

He sighed. "That's not the point."

"But you can't call me a brother if I'm not—" she started.

"Fine," he interrupted, sighing again, but this time more exasperatedly. "You were a bad _sister_." He cocked his head slightly to one side. "That better?"

She nodded. "Yes, but even a sister's got to step back and let her brother get what's coming to him every now and then."

With a groan, Booth leaned forward and rested his head on the bar.

Behind his back, Brennan smirked.

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**Heh. Poor Booth, eh? ((snickers)) **

**Be on the lookout for the next fic: Prodigal Son's Prayer.**

**If you've enjoyed this story, review, because reviews are like pills and my poor muse is a hypochondriac. **


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